


Premarital Agreement

by TheDelphian



Category: Batman (Comics), DC Animated Universe, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern: The Animated Series, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Divorce, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDelphian/pseuds/TheDelphian
Summary: Bruce and Hal are getting divorced. No one's really all that surprised.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Eighteen cents.

That’s all the cash he had on him; three nickels and a few pennies scattered throughout the slots of his wallet. He’d sworn there were some bills left in there.

And that black AMEX card just sat there mocking him. _It had to be canceled, right?_

He should just call Oliver; go out for lunch and stiff him with the bill. It wouldn’t be the first time and he could use the company.

“Sir? There are people behind you.”

A short, medium-build blonde – probably a mother of two. Only two hours into her eight hour shift and someone was already testing her patience. She wasn’t paid enough for this.

“Sorry.”

Hal handed her the black AMEX without second thought and dumped the change into the tip jar. He wanted to chalk it up to instinct, or possible embarrassment. He hated the fact he was unsurprised when the payment went through without issue.

* * *

 

“I want a divorce.”

The timing of it, Bruce muses, was something only the pair of them could manage. Or perhaps something only Hal Jordan himself could manage. Either way, one could safely claim not many would choose to divulge such information under their given circumstances. Those circumstances being the two of them butt ass naked in bed at three in the morning, tangled together in post-orgasmic bliss after a near 84 hours without sleep.

Hal had been away in space for some time and Bruce didn’t sleep much when he was gone. Bruce didn’t sleep much to begin with anyways.

“I’ll call Deanna in the morning, have the paper work started.”

And that was the end of it for the most part. Hal turned on his side to look at him, his eyes apparent with hurt and nothing to say.

Hal Jordan, speechless; it was a revolutionary concept.

The side of his face was resting on Bruce’s bicep and he didn’t turn away when Bruce leaned in to kiss him.

* * *

 

“You don’t wanna know why?”

They were at the breakfast table. Duke had his homework out; his right hand jotting down calculus equations while his left stuffed handfuls of bacon in his mouth. Alfred restocked the teen’s plate, briefly pointing out a mistake in his work before fidgeting with the collar of his jacket. Hal often swore Alfred had eight hands – there wasn’t need for a large house staff with him around.

“Not particularly.” Bruce said, and he set down the _Gotham Gazette_ to pick up the most recent copy of _Daily Planet_.

Hal rolled his eyes to the back of his head. He leaned over towards Duke, grabbed a spare pencil off the table and added a line to his graph, circling the passed over inequality causing him issues.

“Oh, _duh_.” Duke shook his head before giving thanks under his breath. It was clear he’d sensed the tension the moment Bruce finally came down to join the two of them at the table. Hal gave him a pat on the back before standing up and moving to Bruce’s side, bringing his lips to his ear in a way that could easily be mistaken for affection.

“If I knew you were gonna be such a jackass about this, I would have just served you with papers.”

It was a whisper. Barely audible and could be mistaken for a kiss. Bruce caught him by the arm when he attempted to pull away and dragged him back in for an actual kiss. He looked him dead in the eye, their faces just inches apart.

“You knew _damn well_ how much of a jackass I’d be about this.”

His was more of a growl than a whisper.

“ _Tt_.” Damian was silent coming into the room as he was with just about everything. Every movement he made was swift and dangerous, just like his father. “Need I remind you, Father, my bedroom is directly beneath yours? It would be quite nice if for once I could have an evening left un-perverted by you and the Lantern’s… _intimacy_.”

Duke choked on a strip of bacon, coughing loudly to clear his throat.

Bruce pulled away before picking back up the _Daily Planet_.

“We’ll be certain to take that complaint into consideration.”

* * *

 

If he were to be honest, it didn’t surprise him.

At the moment the words were spoken he’d been shocked, of course, but not surprised. If anything, the surprise was within the fact their marriage had lasted as long as it did. Two years wasn’t particularly impressive by average standards, but they’d outrun the League’s betting pool by sixteen months and Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t received a certain sense of satisfaction from that. Dinah was kind enough to forfeit her five hundred in winnings so she could treat the two of them to an anniversary dinner; Bruce figured it must have been guilt.

He wondered now if maybe she’d ask for that five hundred back, and made a mental note to write her a check.

“I don’t want a referral, Deanna.”

He had her on speaker. Bruce decided he didn’t much care if his assistant, Kathleen, overheard the conversation. The news was bound to leak to the press eventually and it might as well be from a reliable source.

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, I was the one who warned you to have Mr. Jordan sign a prenuptial. Seeing as you didn’t listen to me then, it would be highly irrational to not hire a divorce attorney.”

Bruce squinted at the fine print of the contract in front of him; Wayne Enterprises’ most recent deal with LexCorp required his signature and he wasn’t one to do business with Luthor without immense scrutiny.

“My husband and I will work things out fine on our own, Deanna.”

There was a long pause, and then a sigh.

He could hear her clicking her pen over the line – something she did when annoyed with him. Bruce knew she was now taking the time to choose her words carefully; Deanna wasn’t the kind to go straight for the throat unless absolutely necessary. She had a certain tactfulness about her that Bruce likened to his own fighting style.

“Two years may not be a particularly long marriage, Mr. Wayne… But, without a prenup? The large amount of property you’ve acquired under wedlock? The sharp increase in Wayne Enterprises’ stock value?” She paused. “Bruce, if your _husband_ decides to lawyer up, he can do some serious damage.”

Bruce set aside the LexCorp contract, placing it in a stack that required further review.

“Thank you, Deanna – that will be all.”

* * *

 

“I know a great lawyer.”

Hal fought the urge to roll his eyes and reached across the coffee table, grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe the sauce from his hands. He briefly wondered if Ollie was able to taste any Mango Habanero when the majority of it was caught in his beard.

“Are they the same one from you and Dinah’s first divorce?”

Ollie shook his head, “The second.”

Hal snorted. He slid over the bucket of Honey Barbeque.

“I’d rather take whoever Dinah had for that one – she cleaned you out good from what I remember.”

Oliver snatched a throw pillow and shoved it against Hal’s face; the sauce from his fingers was going to stain. Dinah would be pissed.

Hal let out a short laugh before pushing the pillow to the floor. Oliver was looking at him now, as seriously as he could with clumps of hardened wing sauce tangled up in his goatee.

“Is that was this is about?” He asked, “Making a buck?”

They had the playoffs going on in the background. It was March Madness. Central City College vs. Metropolis U, but neither of them had really been watching. They’d been doing that thing where they pretended to act abnormally casual about a seriously fucked up situation, but Ollie had to go and destroy the ruse.

 “It’s not about the money, Ollie.” Hal sighed, “I don’t want anything from him.”

He snatched the bucket of Mango Habanero from Ollie’s side of the table and grabbed the last wing.

“I’m not gonna take a damn cent.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce offers a settlement; Hal's not a fan.

Chapter Two

Jordan was a professional alcoholic. The man never slurred a word or missed a step, but Bruce could tell when he was drunk.

He drank quite a bit.

“You’re embarrassingly drunk.”

It was New Year’s Eve. Oliver had thrown this ridiculous party and Bruce wasn’t sure why he’d come. He’d tried to convince himself it was a quick stop before Vicki’s, but with two hours gone by he figured self-delusion was a lost cause.

“Embarrassing for you, or for me?”

Bruce took a sip of champagne. It was a two thousand dollar bottle of Boërl & Kroff and he didn’t need the label to know that.

Bruce drank quite a bit, too.

“Definitely not for you.” He paused, “For me? Your existence is an embarrassment.”

Jordan actually laughed at that. Not like he usually did; it was a genuine laugh. Hal didn’t do much of that, Bruce realized – laughing. At least, not nearly as much as the drinking.

“ _God_ you’re such an asshole.” He was still laughing, “It must be exhausting. Is it exhausting?”

Bruce considered an honest answer; he’d just about reached his Green Lantern limit.

“I have excellent endurance,” he lied, and then he drank what was left of his champagne.

Jordan turned to him then. He had a look on his face that Bruce didn’t recognize; he was fairly certain he didn’t like it.

“I bet you do.”

Correction – he _definitely_ didn’t like it.

“You look good, you know that?” Jordan pressed, “That jacket looks good.”

Bruce felt himself go pale.

“What are you doing?” He meant to sound more aggressive than that.

Hal rolled his eyes.

“I’m flirting with you, jackass. I’m embarrassingly drunk, remember?”

* * *

 

“What the fuck is _this_!?”

Kathleen had been shocked to see him exit the elevator that morning – she must’ve heard the news. Or maybe he’d just looked pissed.

She accompanied him on his walk to Bruce’s office; nothing but the frantic click of heels and desperate pleas to not “interrupt Mr. Wayne’s meeting” the entire way there. Hal couldn’t possibly care less.

“Mr. Davenport, have you met my husband?” Bruce hardly sounded surprised.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m _so sorry_! I tried to tell him –“

“It’s quite alright, Kathleen.” Bruce waved it off, “Would you mind escorting Mr. Davenport to Lucious’ office? He can take over from here. It was a pleasure meeting with you, Henry, and I hope you can forgive the intrusion.”

The two of them shook hands. Hal ignored the dirty look the fat man gave him on his way out. Instead, he watched Bruce pluck from his stack of unfinished paperwork and begin to sort through it. He’d yet to actually look at him.

“It’s a settlement.” Bruce said, “It’s a good one, and I suggest you take it.”

It was cloudy outside. The back wall of Bruce’s office was made entirely of glass. Hal sometimes wondered if it was the money or the glass wall that made him feel so self-righteous.

Maybe it was the Armani suit jacket.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?” Hal dropped the papers on a nearby chair, “I said I wanted a divorce, not _fifty million_.”

Bruce continued to finger through the paper work.

“If it’s the number that bothers you, I can have it adjusted.” A quick glance, nothing more, “I have a public image to maintain; I can’t leave you with nothing.”

There was a pause, and then there was laughter. A deep, full, guttural laugh – the kind that rose from the bottom up. Bruce ignored it for the most part.

Hal took a seat. He was trying to contain himself but the laughter kept coming.

“Fucking hell, you are a cock-sucking piece of shit.” It was light-hearted – practically a compliment. “Hey – look at me.”

Bruce did. The two of them made eye-contact for the first time since that night and Hal regretted it instantly. He mentally calculated the amount of alcohol it would take to un-see the pain he saw in his eyes; never mind the fact he was two years sober.

“I’m the one leaving you.” He said, “You get that, right?”

Bruce’s desk phone rang at that exact moment, but Hal was the one to turn and look. He recognized the number; Clark and him typically did lunch around this time.

“Yes.” Bruce reached for the phone, “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

* * *

 

“Has he told you why?”

It was raining now. A light drizzle – the café had an awning so they sat outside anyways. Bruce ordered the salad.

“Does it matter?”

Clark didn’t care much, Bruce knew. That is, he didn’t care much for Hal. For Bruce he cared a lot – probably more than he should.

“Of course it matters.” He passed Bruce the salt without him even having to ask, “It might be something that can be fixed.”

Bruce poured half the shaker onto his plate as he pretended to consider the suggestion. Because pretending was easier than explaining to Clark why that wasn’t an option – that not everyone could _fix_ things as easily as he could.

“If it was able to be fixed he wouldn’t have asked to divorce me.”

And in a perfect world, that would have been the end of it.

“That’s it, then.” Clark set his fork down, “You’re giving up – cutting a check?”

Bruce forked a tomato, popped it in his mouth, “It’s a rather large check.”

A couple of bicyclists zipped past them on the sidewalk; Clark watched them go by, picked his fork back up.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Bruce lost his appetite; he overdid it on the salt.

“I’ve heard it once before.”

* * *

 

“I promised Duke I’d help him with homework.”

Bruce hadn’t asked, but Hal still felt an answer was warranted. The truth was he still would have been here regardless. He’s pretty sure Bruce knew that.

“It’s your house as much as it is mine.”

That was a load of bullshit and they both knew it – Hal didn’t even bother saying it. He was watching Bruce undress and wondered if that was okay. He figured it was; it would be senseless for them to act as though the sexual attraction had vanished. Bruce was far too good-looking for that to have happened.

He was shirtless now. Hal was sitting at the edge of the bed; he wanted to reach out and touch him. And that’s exactly what he did – hooked his fingers in his belt and pulled him forward. Bruce got with the program and straddled his waist, didn’t hesitate in bringing their mouths together.

The kiss was a lot like their first one: messy and stupid. Not quite as stupid as a make-out session in Oliver’s guest bedroom… Or maybe it was more so, who knew.

They took a break to catch their breath, their foreheads resting together.

“Are you staying the night?”

More so. It was definitely more so.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts on this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Hal talk... to just about everyone but each other.

Chapter Three

They were at an altitude of 32,000ft. The mission had been brief, but draining – Hal’s ring now at 12%. Bruce offered him a ride back to Coast City and surprised him by forfeiting the controls, but it wasn’t without ulterior motive.

Bruce’s batteries were also running low.

“Level with me – is the reason you’re letting me fly this thing because you genuinely recognize my skill as a pilot, or because I suck great dick?” Hal asked, “Either way I’m flattered; I just want to know which one it is.”

Bruce was stupid to think he’d get much sleep riding shotgun to Hal Jordan. His first thought was to ignore him, but then he quickly remembered that was a dangerous idea.

“Yes,” he offered, because it was the appropriate answer and he was far too exhausted to elaborate.

Hal didn’t notice Bruce had been trying to sleep. Either that or he didn’t much care. Bruce decided it was most likely the latter – selfishness was a trait the two of them shared.

“Yes, I’m a kickass pilot? Or, yes, I give great head?”

Bruce frowned, unsure as to why he bothered keeping his eyes closed at this point.

“Yes,” he said again.

Hal snorted.

* * *

 

Bruce once accused Clark of not liking Hal. Incidentally, Clark once accused Bruce of the same thing.

Clark had been wrong, of course. Though, to be fair, the incident that took place between Bruce and Hal during Oliver’s New Year’s Eve party hardly surprised him. In fact, he’d felt the two of them were long overdue in resolving their outstanding sexual tension, but the proceeding relationship had taken him aback. Angered him, even, when that proceeding relationship led to their marriage. And perhaps that’s where Bruce got the idea from – Clark not liking Hal.

But Clark liked Hal just fine. He just didn’t understand him, was the thing. And where Bruce opted to pursue the inexplicable, Clark left all forms of investigation for his day job. Perhaps Hal never incited much curiosity in him.

Until today, that is.

“You mind?” Hal pressed.

Clark was blocking his way on purpose – trapping him inside the Watchtower break room. They’d been playing an admittedly immature game of hide-and-seek for most of the day.

“Kind of,” he said, and then he took a step forward.

He’d hoped Hal might take a step back, admit defeat and surrender himself to Clark’s interrogation. Instead, the Lantern kept his place – rolled his eyes and muttered “ _good luck with that_ ” before moving to step around him and make a break for it.

Clark caught him by the arm. Hal froze.

“You can’t avoid me all day, Hal. I just want to talk.” Clark kept his voice pleasant despite knowing it wouldn’t matter. He’d made a mistake when he touched him.

“Get your hand off of me.”

Clark did as he was told – slowly let go of Hal’s bicep so the man could turn and look at him. Clark looked right back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s crazy,” Hal said, “the fact you think we have something to talk about. I mean, god _damn_. With how involved you are in Bruce’s life, I honestly forget I’m the one married to him.”

Clark considered that for a moment – weighed it as a possible cause for the entire ordeal, then dismissed it entirely.

“The same could be said for you and Barry.”

And that got the reaction he was looking for. Loss of color, accelerated heartbeat, a jaw clenched so tight that Clark could hear the beginnings of a crack – it was all there, exactly as he’d suspected.

“Go fuck yourself.” Hal spat, and Clark could hardly blame him.

He didn’t stop him when he walked away this time.

* * *

 

“I thought our meeting wasn’t scheduled until the end of this month.”

Bruce frowned at that. Not because he’d expected a friendlier greeting, but because he’d completely forgotten they had a meeting scheduled to begin with. He’d been forgetting a lot of things lately.

“It still stands.” He said, “This is regarding another matter.”

Carol seemed to consider that before gesturing towards a chair, and if it were anyone else he would have taken the seat. But since it was Carol, he moved towards the window – tried his best to find beauty in the California dessert.

He wasn’t having much luck.

 “Scotch?”

She was already pouring. She had a habit of posing things as questions when she didn’t mean it. The two of them had that in common.

“Probably,” he said, and he took the glass when she offered it. They were both at the window now – it was as big as the one back at his office. A Ferris FE-47 ripped through the air in the distance.

“Who’s the pilot?” Bruce asked.

He raised the glass to his nose and took in a deep breath. It was a good age – the kind of scotch meant to be savored.

“Jansen.” She told him. “He’s not the best, be he shows up on time – files his reports.”

Bruce ignored the slight. He took one last whiff of the scotch before throwing back the glass.

“I need you to give Hal his job back.” He said, because there was no building up to it. No way to frame it so that it wasn’t a personal favor.

Carol was laughing now. Whether she was laughing at him or the request was unclear. Bruce had a feeling it was both.

“And why on earth would I do that?” She was still laughing, though she had taken a break to throw back her scotch and sit down in the desk chair.

Bruce considered the question.

“Because I offered him a settlement, but he’s not going to take it. Because I can’t keep him on my health insurance and he leads too dangerous of a life to live without it.” He paused to make eye contact, “And because despite being the worst employee imaginable, you’ve kept him on payroll for the majority of his adult life – deciding to fire him only after we’d married.”

There was silence; Carol wasn’t laughing anymore. She broke eye contact to look down at her ring, and then over at Bruce’s. She looked back out the window to where Jansen was losing altitude.

The decision was made before he walked in the office, Bruce knew – the open tabloid resting on her desk was a dead giveaway.

She handed Bruce her empty glass.

“Pour me another Scotch, you asshole.”

* * *

 

Hal considered spending the night at Ollie’s. At one point he convinced himself he had every intention to do just that, and that the stop home was merely to pack a bag.

But then he realized he thought of Wayne Manor as his home, and that he’d essentially lost the battle already.

“He’s worried about you, you know.”

Hal turned the kitchen light on. It was three in the morning and Bruce wasn’t home. He had a good feeling it wasn’t Alfred making all that noise; Duke and Damian were asleep.

“Yeah? He mention that in couple’s therapy?”

Hal isn’t surprised by that – Jason knowing already. It was the cover story of just about every local gossip magazine; you didn’t need a phone call to find out.

“In bed last night, actually,” and that was the truth. The snort of approval it got from Jason was merely a side benefit.

That’s when Jason finally emerged from behind the fridge doors – several takeout containers in hand. Hal saw that in his six months of radio silence he’d let his hair go red, and he somehow immediately knew what that meant. He smiled slightly. Pulled out some silverware and sat down with Jason at the counter – decided he could eat.

“How’d he fuck this one up?” Jason asked. He was tearing into a container of pot-stickers; Hal could smell the cigarette smoke on his jacket.

For a moment, Hal considered changing the topic simply because he knew that he could. Jason was good that way – never got into your business unless you wanted him to. A true rarity in this family, Hal learned.

“How do you know it’s him that fucked it up?”

Hal reached for a pot-sticker and ended up with two stuck together – he shoved both in his mouth.

Jason waited to swallow before speaking. Hal noticed some time ago that his table manners resurfaced at the Manor – perhaps due to the ever looming possibility Alfred lurked just around the corner.

“From my experience it usually is,” he said. “Hell, he’s fucked up relationships that weren’t even his. The personal ones are just his specialty. Hey – did this come with a sauce?”

Hal got up to fetch the tiny plastic cups of soy sauce; he was fairly certain Alfred had saved them.

“Yeah, well, it was me this time.” He said when he found them – Jason took them with a muttered “ _thanks”_.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it was me; I’m the one who fucked up.”

Jason snorted before shoving the last of the pot-stickers in his mouth. The sauce must’ve gotten him excited because he didn’t wait to swallow before responding this time.

“Couldn’t’ve been _that_ bad.”

Hal glanced away – he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

“It’s bad. Trust me.”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Okay,” it was dripping with sarcasm. “Call me when you take over the Gotham drug trade and have a murder count in the hundreds. I still get Christmas cards.”

Hal opened his mouth, and then closed it. He made a tight fist and fought the anger; Jason wasn’t who he was angry with.

“It’s not the same thing,” Hal said. “I’m not his kid.”

Jason shrugged. He grabbed a pair of disposable chopsticks – shoved them in the rice container before standing up from the counter. Some minutes had passed during their conversation and Bruce was likely pulling into the Batcave any second – it looked as though Jason planned on meeting him down there.

“Neither am I.” And he left on that note – leaving Hal to put away leftovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long... I really struggled with this chapter so a review would definitely be appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal turns the tables; Bruce breaks them.

Chapter Four

“This is the second time you’ve canceled on movie night. Iris is making spaghetti; you _love_ her spaghetti.”

Hal lifted up the tie again – compared it to the one he was wearing. Bruce had invited him to a fundraiser event and he now realized that he should probably own more than two ties.  

“It’s not like you won’t end up eating mine, anyways,” Hal reminded. “Besides, aren’t you guys tired of having a third wheel? Make it an X-rated movie night, if you know what I mean.”

Barry rolled his eyes. Hal was watching him through the mirror.

“I guess I just never expected you to ditch us for Bruce, of all people. I thought you hated the guy.”

Hal shrugged. It was both a response and a way to get the ill-fitted suit jacket to rest better on his shoulders.

“So did I,” he said. “But then I had sex with him – turns out he’s not so bad once you get his pants off. Hey, does this look okay?”

He turned around – let Barry get a full view. The look on the blonde’s face said, no, it didn’t, and suddenly Hal was rethinking movie night.

“I think your boyfriend had something else in mind,” said Barry, and he gestured towards Hal’s closet.

Confused, Hal opened the door. And sure enough there was what appeared to be a brand new three piece hanging on the back of it.  He snorted.

“ _Jackass_.”

* * *

 

Bruce was on the balcony when Hal finally made it to the bedroom. He’d left the door open – filling the room with cool air and the smell of cigarette smoke. American Spirits, Hal could tell – Jason’s brand. Bruce likely bummed one from him down in the cave.

He looked beautiful like that – leaning over the guard rail. The moonlight reflecting off the bare skin of his bruised torso, his pants riding low on his hips – he had a way of being hopelessly melodramatic without even trying. Or maybe he was trying. Two years of marriage and Hal still couldn’t quite tell.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” Hal said, because he could be dramatic too.

If Bruce took any issue with Hal joining him on the balcony, he didn’t show it. Hal half expected him to blow smoke in his face.    

“Something tells me my life won’t be taken by lung cancer,” was his response, and there was really no arguing with it.

For a while, they stood in a comfortable silence. Hal couldn’t help but find that odd – the fact that awkwardness was not a thing being felt right now. He wondered why Bruce hadn’t tried kicking him out yet, and why they’d yet to so much as scream at each other. Hal thinks maybe that’d be better – for the two of them to act like the average couple going through a divorce. That maybe it would make things less painful.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” said Bruce. He was putting out the cigarette atop the wrought iron guard rail – he’d smoked it down to the filter. “It’s unnerving.”

Hal smiled; because that was Bruce’s way of saying he talked too much and it’d been awhile since Bruce last insulted him. It made things seem normal.

“I’m sorry,” He said, and it was clear on both ends that he wasn’t apologizing for his silence.

Bruce flicked the butt off the balcony, a frown on his face.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

* * *

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?”

Joe had asked for an analysis of a foreign substance found at today’s crime scene. He was waiting for the lab computer to offer results – working on yesterday’s report in the meantime. He’d smiled when Iris walked in.

“I hate being the last to know about things; you know that better than anyone.”

 Barry’s smile wavered. He clicked save on the report and gave her a confused look.

“Iris, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What divorce?”

She rolled her eyes – tossed a magazine on his desk. Bruce and Hal were on the cover, which wasn’t surprising, but the headline was enough to cause his stomach to drop out.

_‘THE END OF AN ERA: Former Air Force pilot, Hal Jordan, files for divorce from Gotham’s beloved billionaire’_

He didn’t need to turn any pages to know he was reading the truth.

“Holy shit,” was all he could say. He buried his face in his hands – tried his best to not get sick.

It wasn’t working.

“You really didn’t know,” Iris realized. “Hal didn’t tell you?”

Barry couldn’t look at her – couldn’t get himself to move at all.

“No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

* * *

 

“The penthouse,” he said.

Kathleen hadn’t bothered trying to stop him this time when he exited the elevator – perhaps it was due to Bruce’s doors being open. He was responding to an email when Hal entered the office and seemed entirely unsurprised by his arrival, as was typical. Those deft fingers continued to type at the keyboard.

“I’m sorry?”

Hal swallowed.

“The penthouse,” He repeated. “The one we bought last summer in Coast City. I want it.”

Bruce paused at that. He looked up from the computer to study Hal’s face – perhaps looking to see if this was some form of prank.

It wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said, “anything else?”

Hal steadied himself on the back of a winged chair; he decided long before he arrived that sitting would be a terrible idea.

“The convertible,” he said.

“Which one?”

“Err, the BMW. I think.”

“The green one?”

“Duh.”

Bruce’s lips wore the slightest of smiles, now. He was taking notes – writing down the demanded items on a nearby notepad as though they might be forgotten. It was all for show, Hal knew – the asshole was mocking him.

“Is that all?”

Hal was looking straight at him. There was a hint of challenge in his eyes and he wondered if Bruce could see it.

“Duke,” he said – more firmly than he ever expected to be able to say it. Bruce didn’t write that one down. “I want joint custody.”

There was silence.

Bruce’s eyes were closed – his jaw clenched so tight that Hal could practically hear the grind of his teeth.  It was only a matter of time before the pen snapped in his hands.

“Get out,” he said. His voice was surprisingly quiet – practically a whisper.

“His adoption was a year ago. We both signed those papers.”

Bruce set the pen down. “Get. _Out_.”

“I can and will take you to court over this; I don’t care how slim my chances are.”

The sound was much louder than it should have been – Bruce’s computer crashing against the wall. Hal was certain half the building must have heard it.

The click of Kathleen’s heels was only slightly more frantic than usual.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Wayne?” And it was asked as though this was the third time it happened this week.

“Everything’s wonderful, Kathleen,” Bruce said, now pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind escorting my husband down to the main lobby? And please inform the IT department that I’ll be in need of another monitor on your way back up.”

Hal took one last look at Bruce before following Kathleen without complaint – decided it was better than being forced out by security, and that Bruce deserved the dignity of regaining composure.

From the elevator, he decided he would spend the night at Oliver’s.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter (not that all my chapters aren't short), but there's good reason for it. Leave a comment with your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the time it has taken me to update. For those who don't know, I am a full-time student that has a part-time job, so I haven't had much free time lately. 
> 
> This chapter is different from the others. I originally had something else written for chapter five, but after reviewing it, I decided to scrap it. This seemed like the more appropriate scene. The chapter is only one scene, making it the shortest chapter yet, but it is an important one. I also just really wanted to post something for you guys! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy (:

Bruce blew in like a storm. The man’s presence, Hal realized, is something he’d never gotten used to. It was much too powerful of a force to grow accustomed. Though at the current moment, he was far too drunk to show much of a reaction towards Bruce’s guest appearance in Oliver’s living room. Ollie, on the other hand, had never seen _too drunk_ and most likely never would, allowing him to address the situation in a way only a Queen could manage.

            “Are you _pig_ -shittin’ me? How in the _absolute fuck_ did you get in here?”

            He stood up from the couch – a bottle of red in his left hand. When Hal arrived last night, he was desperate to break his sobriety, only to discover Dinah had removed all the hard liquor from Queen Mansion months ago. The two of them held out for a solid three hours before saying _fuck it_ and storming the wine cellar.

Ollie had never been a good influence.

“You know what? Never mind,” said Ollie, “that’s a stupid question.”

Despite the fact Oliver was practically – no, inarguably – screaming, Bruce paid him no mind. His eyes remained glued to Hal’s from the moment he entered the room, and not in the way Hal preferred them to be, but still in a way that inevitably turned him on.

Hal had yet to stand up from the couch.

“Oliver, would you mind giving us some privacy?” Bruce asked, and he said it as though it were a reasonable request.

“ _Privacy!?_ ” Ollie snorted, “This is _my_ house, assfuck. Where do you get off-“

Oliver stopped short when Bruce turned to glare at him. That glare, with all its icy, impassive intent, was something else you never quite grew used to.

“Why do I even bother,” Oliver muttered, rolling his eyes. He began a slow backwards stumble towards the archway, “I’ll be in the kitchen. Can I get you anything? A glass of wine? Lithium?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Bruce answered, and it truly wasn’t clear as to whether or not he’d picked up on the sarcasm.

He turned back towards Hal the moment Oliver was no longer in view, that icy glare still perfectly intact. He was pissed – that much was obvious, but Hal could tell he didn’t plan on breaking the silence.

“Damn, that still gets me hot,” said Hal. “I ever tell you how hot that gets me? The way you, you know-“ he paused, gesturing vaguely in the air, “ _stare_ people into submission? It’s sexy… Never worked on me; still gets me hot, though.”

Bruce said nothing to that. He broke their eye-contact to glance at the empty wine bottles scattered across the table, but he said nothing to that either. Instead he pulled out a folded stack of papers from the inside of his jacket, tossing it towards Hal without a word. It landed sideways off the side of a Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Sign them,” he said. “You’ll get what you asked for, alongside twenty-five million. Donate it to charity, for all I care, because I won’t go any lower. Your niece and nephews’ college will be paid for when the time comes – I won’t let your idiocy destroy their chances for higher education.”

There was a lump forming in Hal’s throat as he stared down at the papers. He reached out for them hesitantly without any intention to read them; he’d been married to him long enough to know when Bruce would not budge any further.

“Duke?” Hal asked, and he regretted it instantly. He could hear the immediate clench of every muscle in Bruce’s body.

“Visitation only, at Duke’s own discretion.” He responded, as firm as ever, “Do keep in mind that if it were my choice, you wouldn’t even have that much. I don’t care where your name is signed – to have the audacity to use _my child_ as a pawn in whatever ridiculous game it is you’re playing is pathetic, and I see right through it. Learn a new move, Jordan, or you’ll continue to lose.”

And that had been the metaphorical knife to the heart – hearing the word “Jordan” pass Bruce’s lips for the first time in he didn’t know how long. It was the end of an Era indeed.

“Do you have a pen?” Hal asked, and he was grateful for the fact his voice failed to crack.

Bruce pulled one out from the inside of his jacket, handing it to him without a word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation, the one you've all been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here... 
> 
> Please, don't hurt me.(:

If there was one thing Hal hated most about the Guardians, it was their distinct lack of warning. His new assignment – a two-week deployment to the fourth moon of Galtos – now interfered with the Gotham City Charity Ball Bruce so desperately wanted Hal to attend. Though Bruce would never admit it, Hal knew, Hal’s accompaniment to such events made the occasions bearable for him. More than that, Hal swore sometimes he even caught Bruce enjoying himself.

            But Bruce would accept the news with cold impassivity. Any disappointment present within that large, domineering frame of his would remain undetected as he placed a comforting hand at the back of Hal’s neck and demanded he not do anything stupid, and to come back to him, preferably in one piece.  

            And Hal always found that interesting, and somewhat telling – that Bruce didn’t care much as to how many pieces Hal came back in. With Carol, it always had to be one. But with Bruce, it was negotiable. One was preferable, but he could work with two, or even three. Four might be pushing it.

            There was a slight smile on Hal’s face now. He currently stood out on his eldest brother’s apartment balcony, where he’d taken the call from the Guardians. One of the many benefits of having a wealthy husband, of no longer having to work a nine to five (though that hadn’t entirely been his own decision), was the freedom to spend more time with family. And that had truly worked out on both ends, because Jack much preferred having a babysitter he didn’t have to pay, and the two of them had been getting along much better because of it, and Hal, of course, would always seize every opportunity he had to be more present in his niece and nephews’ lives.

            Hal turned to go back inside, and to let Jack know he’d be taking off – that he wouldn’t be around for the next couple of weeks.  Because as much as he loved Janice’s signature baked chicken, he’d much rather spend his last evening on earth in bed with his husband, who always made sure to remind him exactly what he had to come home to.

            But that wasn’t going to happen. Nor would he have the opportunity to alert Jack of his departure, because Barry’s text came in with inexplicable timing and a tone of absolute urgency.

_I need you to come over._

            And that was all Hal needed to be suited up, in the air, and soaring at damn near light speed towards Central City, his own adrenaline screaming in his ears. And he didn’t know exactly how long it took him to get there, but he knew it’d been the fastest he’d flown in quite some time. And he powered down the moment he reached the doorstep, because the message had been sent in a text as opposed to over the comms, which meant it wasn’t _that_ kind of emergency.

            But it had been sent from Barry. So for Hal, it was an emergency all the same.   

            “That was fast,” Barry said once the door opened, and there was a smile on his face. A soft one, like they usually were, but with something else in it that Hal had only seen once or twice before.

            Hal huffed out a laugh.

“That’s a compliment coming from you,” he said, stepping inside without so much as an invitation, because the last time he checked he didn’t need one. “What’s the 911?”

            Hal began to shrug off his jacket and was unsurprised when it suddenly disappeared from him – Barry must’ve hung it up despite seeming as though he hadn’t moved an inch.

            “Just wanted to see you,” he said, and that smile was still on his face.

            Hal blinked, and then raised an eyebrow.

            “You’re kidding me, right? I busted ass to get over here thinking your house is on fire or some shit, and you just wanna crack open a few beers?” Hal said. He began taking a few steps towards the kitchen, “ _God_ , you’re an asshole. There better be some Rocky Road in your freezer, otherwise –“

Barry’s lips pressed against his, cutting his sentence short, and it was with a confidence Hal never would nor could have imagined. And in a perfect world, his first response would have been to push Barry far away from him – to demand answers. But since the world was fucked and Hal even more so, he grabbed at his waist and pulled him close and moaned into his mouth as though he’d been waiting for this exact moment since he met the man. Because that was, in fact, exactly the case.

            And Barry’s hands were in his hair – tangled up in there exactly like Hal had always imagined they might be, pulling Hal towards him with an urgency he’d only dreamed of, with a degree of desire that Hal had been certain would always remain a fantasy. And for a moment, Hal thinks that’s exactly what this is – a fantasy, an illusion. That maybe this truly was only a dream, because it wouldn’t be the first time. That at any moment, he would wake up in bed next to his husband where he belonged.

His husband. Bruce.

That’s when he shoved Barry halfway across the room as though it were the knee-jerk reaction that should have happened in the first place. Because Hal was a married man, and married men didn’t swap spit with other married men – especially when that married man was their best friend, who up until this very moment Hal had been certain was as straight as a two by four.

            And Barry still had that smile on his face, only now there was a certain smugness to it that Hal thinks maybe had always been there.

            “Why’d you stop?” Barry asked, and he asked it as though it were a reasonable question.

            Hal took a moment to glance around the room, wondering if maybe there were cameras hidden somewhere and this was all some kind of sick prank.

            “Why’d I stop?” Hal repeated, “Um… Okay, well, first of all… **_What the fuck_**.”

            Barry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get like that,” he said, “not now.”

            “Get like _what_?” Hal snapped.

            Barry sighed. “All belligerent like that – like someone shoved you at the bar. All I did was kiss you, stop acting like you’re offended by it.”

            And Hal truly had to take a moment after that – had to soak in Barry’s words and the attitude that came with it. Not that Barry hadn’t always had an attitude, just that Hal had never experienced it in this context. He could safely say he didn’t like it.

            “ _Newsflash_ , Barry,” he finally sneered, “I’m a little offended by it. I’m _married_ , remember that? Great wedding – you gave a kickass speech. Not as good as the one I gave at yours, but still a solid effort.”

            Hal watched as Barry turned slightly away from him and muttered something under his breath. There was still a hint of smug aggression twisted throughout his face, and Hal desperately wanted to get rid of it. _How_ he wanted to get rid of it, he was ashamed to say.

            “I’m sorry – what was that?” Hal pressed, “If you’ve got something to say, Bar, go ahead and say it.”

            Barry looked back at him then, his attitude more apparent than ever. “Married to _Bruce_ ,” he said.

            “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

            “That it’s _bullshit_ , Hal, and you know it!” Barry snapped – the aggression was no longer subdued. It seemed as though they were officially reaching fight territory – a territory that was dangerous to reach with Barry, more dangerous than with anyone else Hal knew. “You and Bruce? It’s a _joke_! One that’s gone on for longer than I can handle.”  

“Oh, really?” Said Hal, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Longer than you can handle? I’m so sorry my _marriage_ has been horribly inconvenient for you.”

            And that’s when all aggression seemed to fall away. Maybe it was Hal’s words, or maybe it was Barry’s own realization that they were about to start fighting, and that hadn’t been his intention, but his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. It was a drastic change in emotion, one that took place faster than it should have, but, with Barry, things often took place faster than they should have.

            Barry closed the space between them, moving slow as though it were how he meant to do it the first time, and taking Hal’s hand in his own as though he hadn’t just outright called the man’s marriage a sham.

            And Hal hated the fact that he let him – that he didn’t pull away, and curse, or deck him square in the jaw, like he would have with anyone else. He hated the fact Barry had always been able to break rules no one else was allowed to break – not Ollie, not Carol, and especially not Bruce.

            “I’m sorry,” said Barry, and he was looking up at Hal with that particular look – the one that made him walk away from bar fights and lower his voice at League meetings. “Can we stop yelling?”

            Hal’s not sure what came after that, because the next thing he knew they were falling in bed together. And he desperately wished he could blame it all on alcohol like he had once always been able to, but he’d truly never been more sober. But at the same time, with how Barry was grinding against him, kissing his neck, and whispering Hal’s name over and over, Hal had never felt more intoxicated – had never felt so hopelessly out of control.

            “Have you ever been with a man?” Hal asked him.

            “It’s not rocket science,” Barry replied.

            And for all the jokes made about Barry’s supposed quickness in bed, sex with him felt eternal. For what he lacked in duration, he made up for with his uncanny refractory period, and the whole thing felt like a marathon.

            “Iris left me a week ago;” said Barry, after the two of them had finished, “she’s filing for divorce.”

            And although the news was shocking, Hal said nothing to it. His whole body felt numb, and not in the good way – he was staring blankly at the ceiling. He felt nothing but Barry’s fingers combing through his hair.

            “Leave him for me;” Barry continued, “you’re only with him because you thought you couldn’t have me.”

            Hal turned to him, then – daring to look him in the eyes.

            “I love him,” he said. And he meant it.

            Barry offered a sympathetic smile. “You ever tell him that?”

There was silence.

            “You don’t think that’s weird?” He pressed, “The fact you’ve been married for two years, but you’ve never once said ‘I love you?’”

            Hal swallowed.

“I need time to think,” He said, “I leave for Galtos tomorrow morning.”

And with that, Barry stopped stroking Hal’s hair. Hal watched as he pushed up from the bed and began to search for his sweatpants throughout their scattered piles of clothing.

“Then I’ll see you when you get back,” he said. “And be sure to come back in one piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale of 1-10, how upset are you with me?

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty please leave a comment -- I definitely want to know everyone's thoughts on this first chapter!


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